One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(92)

The green plateau they currently occupied was home to the ruins of Beauvale Castle. The castle’s crumbling turrets had been well positioned for defense. They overlooked the valley of the River Wye, and from this high bluff, one could see for miles in any direction. Miles of forests and farmland, displaying every shade of green in Nature’s palette. Dark, mossy glens that swallowed the sunlight; fields of summer alfalfa that sparkled as a mild breeze teased the grass.

“‘Once again I see these hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines of sportive wood run wild,’” she recited quietly. “‘These pastoral farms, green to the very door.’” She gave him a smile that arrowed straight for his heart.

How could he not love her? He’d married a woman who quoted Wordsworth. And not merely to impress or sound well versed in modern poetry, but because the verse meant something to her, and she kept it in her heart.

She looked at him through her lashes. “You’re very quiet. What are you thinking?”

At the anxious note in her voice, her mount moved beneath her. For her first lesson, she was doing quite well, but she still lacked the confidence to fully control a horse. It would be some weeks yet before he could allow her to ride alone.

Spencer calmed Amelia’s gelding with a few clucks of his tongue and dismounted from Juno to give her a rest. Likely he shouldn’t have pressed a mare Juno’s age on such a long journey, but he’d seen with his own eyes the destruction she wrought on her stall and herself when left behind. He needed to secure ownership of Osiris, and soon. But all these were thoughts better kept to himself.

“It’s beautiful,” he said simply, looking out on the valley. Really, that was God’s truth. Caught between the wild, uneven landscape spread below, the primeval forest at his back, and the brilliant blue sky overhead … he found his breath squeezed from his lungs. The sight made his heart ache for his own boyhood home. Canada’s untamed landscape offered many such vistas, and in his youth he’d often slipped away, paddled hard, ridden far to find them. Now an adult, he rarely let himself feel how much he missed that inspiring beauty.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

Here was a dark alcove of his spirit he’d never examined too closely, but Amelia had forged straight in and drawn back the curtains, illuminating everything. He wasn’t especially sentimental, but he was a true Romantic, in the vein of Wordsworth and his like. Spencer had never been able to sit in a crowded church pew and feel anything but hopeless and tormented. But Nature was his cathedral. In places and moments like these, he truly felt the presence of the divine. Both humbling and comforting, at once.

It was a good thing, at times, for a duke to feel humbled. The same could be said—or at least tacitly admitted in rare moments of self-examination—that it was sometimes a welcome thing, to be comforted. And he didn’t need to go chasing, swimming, or scaling wild landscapes in pursuit of those feelings now. Fortunate soul that he was, he’d married a woman with the wit and generosity to dispense both comfort and humility, and the spirit to keep him guessing which he’d receive on any given day.

And he loved her for it. Such a new endeavor for him: loving. And an intimidating one to undertake. He was a man who tended to excel at a few select pursuits and fail catastrophically at the rest. He hated to ponder the consequences if this one fell into the latter category.

“How long has the castle been like this?” he asked, nodding toward the ranging pile of stone.

“Not so very long,” she said. “From what my father told me, it was standing until a few generations ago. It was weakened by fire and then fell into disrepair. Most of the walls are still standing, but there are no roofs or floors to speak of.” She turned shining blue eyes toward the castle’s entrance, where a stone arch bridged a pair of rounded towers. “Well, except in the gatehouse. That’s where my brothers got up to all their mischief.”

“And you? Where did you get up to your mischief?”

“I was a good girl,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “I didn’t get up to any mischief.”

He gave her a subtle wink. “Never too late to begin.” To give his mare a bit of rest, he led her in a slow walk about the ruined castle’s perimeter. Pity the heap was entailed to her brother. He found himself wishing he could rebuild it for Amelia, make it into the home she deserved. Wake up to this sparkling green landscape and those brilliant blue eyes every morning.

After rounding the castle, he returned to Amelia, observing her delicate profile as she looked down at the river. He could imagine her ancestors standing here, in centuries past. Generation after generation of strong, noble women who partnered the strong, protected the weak, and made the keep worth defending.

“It’s well situated,” he said, following her gaze to Briarbank. In lieu of their own private castle, he supposed they’d have to make do with the cottage. “But it’s dreadfully small.”

“Yes. And it will soon be full of people. I’ll understand, if sometimes you feel the need to slip away.” She smiled. “Anyhow, the neighborhood begs to be explored. There’s the river, the forest, all sorts of ruins. Someday we’ll ride down to Tintern. That would be an excellent excursion for Claudia.”

Spencer frowned at the mention of his ward, shooting a glance back toward the coach. Certainly, the ruined medieval abbey would be an excellent excursion for her—if they could coax the girl to go. Claudia hadn’t been riding since her return from York. He didn’t know whether her boycott stemmed from resentment toward Amelia, or toward him.